But Thinking Makes It So
by psycra2006
Summary: (A bit of a mix of the movies and comics) After the Winter Soldier has come forth, after mutants have clashed with humans, and after the Avengers were forced to save the world again, Steve Rogers decides to focus on normality and rebuilding. But with a recent encounter by Sam Wilson, will that be possible? And are there forces at work again that none of them are prepared for?


"Thankee-sai." The young woman slid over a five to the man behind the bar, taking the overpriced piss-water and drinking it down. Penelope had decided, with what little wisdom she had swimming in her packed brain, to sit at one of the many crowded bars in Washington DC. She especially enjoyed this one because people left her alone, because they were mostly agents and officers. Even a woman like Penelope with deep violet hair, brown eyes, and an hourglass figure revealed through a pair of form-fitting blue jeans and a black tank top, she was invisible.

The invisibility was nice, she thought as she drank her beer, noticing the groups talking and laughing, very few turning to her. Penny didn't really stand out, her hair color even dimmed in the dark lighting of the bar, inconspicuous behind thick black-rimmed glasses. It had allowed the bartender to take her money without notice of her odd remark and it had allowed her to sit protected and unnoticed. For the most part.

Her deep brown eyes had been locked on the television, enjoying watching the Yankees lose as she always did, when she felt it. A tugging sensation, the one that shuddered through and pulled your glance to whomever it was staring at you, brought her eyes to another. Sam Wilson had turned from his table to eye the fair-skinned woman at the bar, one of the few people to notice that she did, in fact, stand out. She was young, possibly mid-twenties, wearing clothing that flattered her body (from what he could see), and the hair was certainly purple. There were traces of a tattoo across her back, but it was hard to tell.

"Sam! What's with the gawking?" Steve Rogers was smiling at his friend, sitting at their usual table, Natasha and Clint having joined them per request of Steve. He liked hanging out with normal folks; or at least, the most normal that he would get. Stark was great and all, but he tended to make everything a party, and none of them had wanted it. Rebuilding SHIELD had been hard enough, and after a long day like today, the group had decided to recuperate.

"I think he's checking out the girl at the bar. Cute one with the hair." Clint's voice was raised over the music and chatter, Nat cocking an eyebrow, "Really, with the hair? We've sure narrowed down our focus. Jesus, how much have you had to drink?" Clint grinned and took a final drink of his beer, refilling with the last of the pitcher on the table, "I could still shoot an arrow." Sam turned back and laughed,

"You couldn't shoot an arrow if you picked it up yourself and chucked it, Barton." Steve laughed, Nat grinning a bit, Clint looking slightly depressed at the idea. He grabbed the pitcher; feeling Sam's hand stopping him, "Don't stress it. I got the next round, lightweight."

Sam left the table as Clint argued that it wasn't fair, because Steve couldn't get drunk, Nat was 'genetically predisposed' to being a heavy hitter, and he had to be agile so he was more likely to get drunk. Walking to the bar, he stood beside the woman he'd been staring at, the one who had caught his eye before she turned quickly back to the TV. He waited a moment, as the portly man behind the old oak bar seemed to hurry between individuals. He looked over, noticing she had consumed about half of what must have been pretty shitty beer. He knew because he was drinking the same thing, "Got you drinking the swill too?"

Her head turned, casually, looking up at the dark skinned man, grinning, white teeth showing and a face she found stupidly handsome. She shrugged a bit, "Gets the job done, right?" Another drink and he nodded his head, keeping the smile up before waving down the bartender, handing over the pitcher and reaching into his wallet to pay as he waited, "I've got a table towards the corner, if you're looking for some company. Few friends and I are relaxing." Penelope couldn't help but smile, brushing back some of the long locks from her eyes, "I'm actually OK on my own. Great thing about this bar is I typically don't get bothered and they get me my drinks on time." Sam snickered a bit, toying with a comment before stopped, "And no, it's not because of cleavage. It's because I'm nice." The portly man handed the pitcher to Sam, winking at Penny who winked back, Sam telling him to keep the change.

He lingered for a moment, thinking something about her was different, wondering if it was the buzz of attraction that alcohol sometimes caused. She looked back at Sam as he spoke, "You sure? I know a lot of the guys here are just de-stressing after today." He was referring, of course, to the fact that almost everyone in here knew one another, but realizing that this was why he had noticed her. The violet woman was with no one, and she had been alone since he noticed her, though why had no one else?

She tilted her head back over to his table, "Your friends are waiting, Falcon." She winked at him and he felt himself grin wider, distracted as he carried the pitcher back to the table. Placing it down, Nat smirked at him, "Strike out, Sam?" Clint raised his hand accusingly, "HAH!" There wasn't any real quip behind it, causing Natasha and Steve to laugh, both pouring another beer as Sam sat down, "Nah, she seemed pretty OK. Just don't really recog-" He stopped himself, and it sank in further. She had called him 'Falcon' which was his codename, and even then, that was within the higher ranks of SHIELD. Few even knew it.

He turned again, looking around, though noticing she had disappeared from her place at the bar. Standing, Steve followed his eyes, concerned, "Sam, what is it? What's wrong?" Steve stood with him, both dressed casually, Steve in his white shirt with a blue button down hanging open over it, Sam wearing his tattered grey 'SHIELD' shirt. Nat watched them, turning to Clint who shrugged, "She called me Falcon."

Despite the buzz, he felt himself sobering quickly, moving through the people in the bar, Natasha standing and placing a hand on Steve's shoulder, "Sit this one out, Cap. I'll follow him." Her own attire was a long-sleeved, form-fitting black shirt, one she would wear frequently, one that allowed for agile movements and blending. It was how she lived. So as Sam pulled himself out of the bar, he stepped into the warm night air of DC, looking around puzzled, rubbing his head a bit. There were a few folks smoking, the toxicity of the air not bothering him or Natasha as she stood behind him, "Are you sure?" He turned, a look of almost irritation across his normally docile features, slightly hurt at being questioned, "Yeah I'm sure. Why else would she leave right after?"

Turning again, Sam felt a warmth coming from his left, watching as a violet head of hair passed under a flickering street lamp, the woman passing a few people. Sam bolted, Nat quick behind him as they made their way down the street, some getting out of the way, some gently pushed to the side. He could occasionally catch a glimpse of her, the purple that now stood out like a beacon, her movements casual and calm as they got closer. He watched as she turned down a corner, a darkened alley two blocks up, his internal monologue running, _of course she ran down a dark alley. I should definitely follow her. _It was sarcasm, of course, and he ducked anyway.

When he did, however, it was much as he expected, breathing harder as Nat stopped behind him, "She head down here?" Sam looked bewildered as he tried to spot where she could have gone, though it would be impossible in the dark. In the time it would take to get light, or even a team, she would be gone. And what would he say? A strange woman called him by his call sign? His brain was swimming, though, and he knew that he was missing something. What was it?

The two walked back calmly to the bar, sitting back down at the table, Sam defeated as Clint spoke up, "Find your girlfriend?" Nat punched his arm playfully, though Steve was ignoring them, doodling in his notebook as he sometimes did, "No, she… I don't know. She left. Why does it matter? I mean, she called me Falcon, and don't give me the rundown of how that shit could mean 'any number of things'." He looked at Cap, though there was no response, "I just don't… something felt off." Steve Rogers turned to look at his friend, a man whose judgment he trusted, holding up paper towards him in the dingy light of the bar. On the paper was a sketched, rough outline of the woman from the side, leaning back a bit and holding the sides of her barstool casually as she watched TV. It was actually pretty good. But what Sam caught most was the necklace that he had doodled as well, the small cube hanging around her neck, "Jesus Christ, guys. I think she had a necklace of the Tesseract."


End file.
